The Sadness of Writing These Stories

"Hey Chris, can you do a write up this week?"

That is the question I get every single week from my kickball team. Well that is true but what I really meant to say is that it is the question I have gotten every single week for the past 7 years or however long I've "played" this "game". Well I have something to say about that.

Every once and a while, I enjoy a few beers, and that in combination with my amazing personality and other people's awkward personalities lead to interesting things happening. I write them down, and everyone says "haha you are so funny". 

Funny? I just wrote a story about binge drinking, getting shot down by multiple women, throwing  up in the bushes, spilling beer on people, attempting to walk home 20 miles, being thrown out of the Comfort Inn and having to call my mom at 2am on a weeknight to pick me up in her minivan from the bar and transporting me back to my room in my parent's basement. That doesn't sound funny! That sounds very sad. 

And if that isn't the main point of the story then it involves walking the streets of Herndon the next day in my kickball gear, almost being fired from work for being hungover, having my mom drive me BACK to the bar in the morning to pick up my car, paying my $100 plus bar tab, or reliving  the drunk text messages I sent to chicks with boyfriends or to fake numbers.

It saddens me to think about it, but every "good" write up I have costs me $100 in alcohol, negative liver points, a lot of shame, friendships, possible wives, street cred, lectures from my mom, and money docked from my allowance. And all it nets me is "Dap" from  the 4 people who read them. That is not a great investment.

And then one week I decide something. You know what. Maybe I'll enjoy a few waters, perhaps a root beer, not spent $100 at a dive bar, maybe endulge in some burger sliders, drive back to my home and get to bed at a reasonable hour on a weekday WORK NIGHT. It will be SOOO FUN to field all the emails of "WHERES THE WRITE UP, Why isn't it funny!!!!"

You guys want write ups?  Buy me drinks all night. (Unfortunately, "social points" don't drown my sorrows.) And if not, I'll be the guy in the corner with the great hair drinking waters and totally not being awkward.

The Craziest Bar Tab I've Ever Had

It was the end of the night.  The bar was just about empty and I needed to be anywhere but near more beers.  I went up to the bartender and asked to close out my tab.  She handed me the receipt and I looked down at the amount spent...

WHAT?

I shook my head like a surprised cartoon character.  The only thing I could do was look up and glare at the bartender.  She gave me the head tilt, palms up, "i dunno what to tell ya" pose.  But I just...it couldn't be right.

The previous week I set a record.  I went to the bar 4 nights in 5 days.  During that time I racked up bar tabs totaling well over $300.  But nothing could explain what happened this particular night.

The stare-down wasn't giving me the information I desired, so I pleaded with her.  "Are you sure this is right?  I really don't believe it"

She assured me it was correct and I just shook my head.

As I headed home I just couldn't stop thinking about that damn bar tab.  I wanted to...no...I needed to...know how it happened.

Earlier in the night I remember eating endless shrimp, I remember kicking a red ball, I remember girls wearing fox costumes, I remember the Cupid Shuffle playing 40 times...but I couldn't remember how I ended up with the bar tab.

After sitting in my bed depressed and pondering it for hours I decided that I had to let it be.  It was taking over my head and it needed to stop.  I calmed down, took a deep breath, and decided to do the only thing I could do.  I'd just pay off the $18.43 the next time my credit card bill was due....

Sorry bartenders, I'll try harder next time....

Get Back In The Bar Now!!!!

GET BACK IN THE BAR NOWWWWW!!!!!

I looked up and saw that it was the bartender screaming at me.  A few questions came to mind.  First, why was I outside.  Second, why was the bartender outside. Third, what the hell was happening!

Earlier that night our kickball team dominated.  At the bar, not at the field.  Let's not talk about the field.

There was a limbo contest that night at the bar and I decided to ask the ladies on our team if they wanted to join.

"Hey Lynsee...want..."

I was interrupted.

"YES! I'LL DO IT!"

Hmmm. That was a quick and unexpected response.

"I mean, I guess I'll give it a try"

Awww shucks, you guess you'll give it a try... Ok...fast forward 10 minutes later and the girl is holding a gift certificate to the bar after taking home the limbo championship.

While lady was dominating at limbo, the rest of the team was dominating their credit card charges.  Shots were flowing like...shots...and I can't even remember how many drinks I purchased.  APR 1, Me 0.

Before you know it I found myself standing outside of the bar being dragged back inside by my ear.

So what happened?

Earlier, someone asked how I was getting home and if I was taking a cab.  This led me into a tirade about the cab company and how much I hate them.

 "IM NEVER CABBING HOME!" I screamed, and I headed out the door.

At this point, as a normal human would assume, it appeared that I was going to drive home intoxicated.  This was not the case.  Yes I was about to do something extremely stupid, but not that.  Never that. (just look at the parking lot EVERY Friday morning)

What I was going to do was something I had actually accomplished before.  I was going to attempt the 13 mile walk back to my home.

Lucky for me, and my legs, the bartender stopped me outside and told me to come back inside.  I was trying to explain my plans to walk home, but she didn't care.  She wanted me back inside.

A few minutes later my cab arrived.  Wait...what?  My cab?  I didn't call a cab.

I'm gonna take an educated guess and assume the bartender had called me a cab.  Whatever the case was I would not be sleeping in the bushes.

Within seconds of entering the car, as predicted, the cab the driver was telling me that I had to prepay him (illegal).  I asked if he was kidding and he said he wasn't and that if I wanted to go to Chantilly where he "don't drive there" (so far away...10 minutes) that he needed the money first.

I wasn't in any state to logically complain so I did something I have done in the past when stuff like that happened.  I put my (dead) phone up to my ear, and said the following:

"Hey dad. The cab driver made me prepay him $40. When I get home in 10 minutes can you come outside and look at the meter and get the correct change back from him"

It doesn't matter how old you are, if you have a dad, or if nobody is waiting outside when you get home.  It works.

The driver handed me back $20 and I gave him a $2 tip and went inside and collapsed on my bed.  Another successful kickball night.

Bloody Murder!

I woke up in a haze in the middle of the night.  The clock read 4:30am and life at the moment was a little blurry.  My head was pounding, my entire body ached, and my stomach was cramped up.  I looked at my bedroom sheets and screamed out loud.

The bedsheets were soaked in blood.  It was terrifying, but once I realized what was going on I felt a little better.  What a magical day. I had finally become a woman.

Wait a minute...I'm a dude! What the hell!!!!!

Upon further examination, it appeared the blood was coming from my knee region.  Sorry...regionS.  Both of my knees featured beautiful scabs with dry blood running down to my shin on each side.  I couldn't exactly remember how the injuries happened, but I had an idea.  Kickball...

The previous day I had a big kickball game against some color team.  There were some kicks, some throws, and whatever else happens in kickball.  But at one point while on base I decided that I was going to go for the glory and try to score a precious run...I took off from third base and headed towards home.

About halfway there I started to think to myself in my head.  I wondered why I was running so hard.  I wondered why I was playing this game.  I wondered why I didn't ask Suzy to the 8th grade formal.

By the time my eyes came back to reality I realized that the other team was not happy about me trying to score that run.  In fact they were trying to stop me.  It was almost like there was some kind of "competition" happening.  I thought this was kickball!

As I galloped towards freedom I noticed that a big red ball was headed towards me...and there was only one way to avoid it...

What I'd like to imagine happened next was a scene out of a Tchaikovsky ballet.  The beauty.  The grace.  The dexterity.  I flew through the air with the greatest of ease, causing all who were privileged enough to be spectating to gasp with wonder and excitement as I slid cleanly and safely into home plate...but what actually happened was just a tad different.

What actually happened was a scene out of a Saw movie.  The terror.  The horror.  The gore.  I bungled through the air with the grace of a paraplegic elephant, causing all who were unlucky enough to be spectating to gasp in pure disgust as I tumbled towards home plate.

I fell towards the ground like a person who has never done an athletic thing in their life and my knee decided that it was going to take a roadtrip through the grass.  As the combination of sharp grass and hard ground tore apart my skin cells , I noticed that my foot was touching home plate, and that the ball had not touched me.  I believe according to the rules, that means I scored.  I was a true champion.

If only Suzy were there to see it all...

Setting A Lineup Without Meeting Your Team

=========
It was the night before the biggest day of the year.  Kickball opening day.  It would be my first season as a coach/captain and I was getting pretty excited.

In the week prior I emailed my team 1-2 times a day, but since it was the night before I figured 3 emails would do.  I mean who doesn't like multiple kickball strategy emails with PDF attachments titled "Six Keys To Kickball"?  (not a joke)

On my computer screen I had 3 windows up in my graphics program, each with a kickball field diagram and icons with the names of each of the players on the team.  I would set a lineup, and then 2 minutes later tweak & tinker and shift the lineup.  This lasted at least 2 hours.

But there was one problem.  We are a new team, and I hadn't even met the players.

So how was I making my original lineup?  By insanely thinking that a person's name would somehow define their kickball skills.  I mean how can a girl named Lynsee not be the perfect person to bat 8th?  Kevin?  Solid name, he's our pitcher.

After turning these names into characters in my head (like when you read a book) I realized that this was just nuts.  I mean, what the hell was I thinking?

My next idea was better.  I would type in my team's names into Facebook, look at their profile picture, and decide what positions they would play based on that.  That was working pretty well until I realized that some of these people's pictures were from 2005.  Others had multiple people in their pics. Plus if I looked at my own Facebook photo (I look like Lady Gaga) I would have cut myself from the team.

After name sounding and Facebook stalking, I had a pretty good idea where everyone would fit in.  But there were still a few questions.

So the next thing I did was send out emails to the people I hadn't figured out yet.  It was a pretty simple email.  "Hello.  Please describe your speed.  Thanks".  Email responses contained the following terms/words (not a joke)

"Usain Bolt", "running a half-marathon", "athletic"

Nice!  Championship bound!

After another few hours of Google Searches, background checks, reading LinkedIN Resumes, and other stuff, I finally had the perfect lineup.

I went to bed early that night.  Woke up early, tinkered with the lineup again, ate a solid carb filled breakfast, and headed out of the house.  It would be a long work day, but with all my kickball thoughts, it would go by fast.  And finally, once again, I'd be on the kickball field...bunting...ug...

Lonely Steak

It started the way most crazy nights do.  I forget to eat.  I remember to drink.  One day I'll flip those two around and my life will improve exponentially.  One day.

You know what is really boring?  Working from home.  It sounds like an amazing life, but it isn't.  I sit at home all day and work, and when I get home from work, I'm actually still at work, cuz I'm home.  It is dreadful and monotonous.  Imagine sitting in your cube all day, driving home, and then watching TV and sleeping...in your cube.  That is my life.

So after a week in bed (or I guess you could call it my desk), I decided I needed to get out of the house early.  I got in my car and headed to the bar.  When I arrived I was shocked to find out that it was only 4pm.  (seems I'm really bad at estimating time...but I'm getting a little ahead of myself).

The bar was amazing as usual.  I checked Facebook on my phone for 2 hours while I drank alone waiting for anyone that I knew to show up.  Heck, I would have taken anyone I recognized, or even...well anyone that was breathing.  But nope, just me, a beer, a blue and white F, and 300 people I despise.  Do you realize how many cat photos you see in 2 hours?  It's mind boggling.

Eventually someone showed up, I don't remember who because basically I don't remember anything.  It was probably Bob, or Sally, or...well who cares.  I do recall beers, bad jokes, and at one point finding myself in the back seat of a car, and not in the good way (seatbelted with cotton candy).

I can only guess that this car was transporting me to the annual kickball rules meeting.  If you don't know what that is, it is a meeting where the kickball people teach us the rules without explaining to us why the nerds who made these rules changed them from baseball so much.

According to reports I was there for 1 minute.  The exact same amount of time as the people who run the league, who stayed just long enough to say "hi" but not long enough to say "hello".  Very accommodating leadership.

After that informative meeting (if the ball is pitched over the plate, it is called a strike, if it is not it is called a ball) I was back at the bar doing my usual schtick. Wrestling girls, insulting people to their faces, and being really awkward while hitting on chicks.

By the time the captain's meeting rolled around (yes there was a captain's meeting too) I was "buzzed" as the people say.  (If you didn't know the 3 stages of drinking, 'buzzed' is a way to be in denial about being drunk off of like 2 beers...'tipsy' means you are starting to accept the fact that you are drunk off of like 2 beers...and 'hammer time' means you have fully realized that you are a lightweight)

I remember bringing up a lot of great points in the Captain's meeting.  Most of them had to do with the Fun Squad being amazing, and Brent being short.  (You'll meet Brent one day...there is no avoiding it...tip: if you can't find him you are looking too high)

With all my obligations of being a team captain aside, it was time to really let loose and have some fun.  In my mind the next day, what happened was a scene from Project X.  According to sources the next day, what happened was a scene from Intervention.  (Is that why we were all sitting in a circle?  I thought we were playing Duck Duck Goose)  I'm gonna go with a little from column A, a little from column B.

Finally I reached the point in the night where I bounce myself.  That means I independently realize that I've had too much to drink, I force myself to close my tab, and I promptly kick myself to the curb.  Or...it may have been the bouncer who did those things...I can't be sure...I'm a 6 foot tall jacked dude with huge muscles right?

Now, comes the part of the night I call "Lonely Steak".  This is the part of the story that happens every Thursday where I stumble over to the Outback Steakhouse next door, sit by myself at the bar, order a steak, and then call my mom and beg her to come pick me up because I have no idea how to dial a taxi.  Did I mention that the sun was still out?

I finished my steak (was it delicious?) and then walked over to my car.  No, I don't drink and drive, in fact my car is still at the bar and I'm writing this 2 days later.  I went into the trunk and pulled out my laptop...I need this for when I get home to watch po...do business stuff.

Unfortunately for me and my image of being pretty cool, my new laptop bag is actually luggage.  But instead of pulling it on it's wheels I wear it like a gym bag.  Quite frankly it looks ridiculous.

I took this monstrosity with me and went back into Carpool to wait for my ride.  The bouncer (a new guy) literally said to me "we don't usually allow giant bags in here".  He granted me an exception and I walked around getting heckled until my sister (I guess my mom was busy) called and told me she was out front waiting.

The conversation on the way home went like this:

me: "Turn your music down, it is almost midnight!"
sis: "It's 8 o'clock"
me: "WHAAAAAAT.  Take me to McDonalds!!!!!!"
sis: "Didn't you just eat at Outback"
me: "I don't know, I want MCDONALDS!!!!"

If there was more (or if there was McDonalds) I don't remember it...8 freaking o'clock...are you serious????!!!!!  STORY OVER!!! DON'T TELL ANYONE WHAT YOU'VE READ!!!

Wait...the season hasn't even started yet...this was the pre-meeting night...Yikes...see you Thursday...

The Neon Buffalo

“You’ve got to go.  We’re closed”

I looked up at the woman speaking to me, nodded my head, took a sip from my beer, and headed out the door.  I turned around waiting for all my kickball friends to walk out the door behind me…waiting…waiting…waiting…nobody.  It was at that point that I looked up above the door at the restaurant’s neon sign.  Suddenly it hit me that I was not at Kelly’s Irish Times in DC.  I was at Buffalo Wild Wings…In Virginia.  What the what?

Only a few hours earlier life was good.  Despite being not allowed to play in the kickball game I decided to still hang out and drink some beers with my teammates.  It was one girl’s birthday (I seem to recall she was dressed as a raccoon for some reason) and we were supposed to be celebrating.  Let’s just ignore the fact that the week before she also had a birthday party…but I guess that’s fine.  Birthdays every day!  It wasn’t until halfway through the 8th or so flip cup game did we realize that the girl was not even playing with us, but maybe at her birthday party next week she will join the team.

The night was going great.  Well, as great as a night can go when you are in a disgusting sunlight-deprived asbestos ridden dungeon for the 30th straight week chugging shitty beer out of a cup that 8 other sick kickballers drank out of just minutes before you poured your beer into it.  Then, in the most cliché kickball thing that could ever happen, somebody (it’s always “somebody” it is never a person’s name) handed me a shot of Fireball and after that (seriously a direct quote from 100 people who drank fireball ) “the night got fuzzy”.

I remember dancing around a table in some kind of strange musical flip cup game.  I remember dancing around a table in some kind of non-flip cup game.  Basically, I just remember constantly dancing around a table.  And, as an added bonus, DJ Skip-Songs Halfway Through only played Blurred Lines 40 times, a lean night.  Oh, and I think I saw a guy in a Larry the Cable Guy sleeveless business suit trying to get me to sign a petition or something...I think...

About $60 later (I miss Sunday bartender’s “ghost pitchers”) the next thing I remember is staring at that giant shiny yellow buffalo sign.  I don’t think I took a metro…I don’t think I took a cab…I sure as hell didn’t drive…and I don’t even have a bike (one guy on my team did, and he apparently fell off his bike and almost got a BUI).  I had no clue how I got there, why I went there, and what was going on.  I looked at my phone…it was 10:30pm aka the time I usually head OUT to the bar.  I think the only thing to do here is yada yada what happened, but I walked out of the bar, Yada Yada Yada, and I woke up 30 minutes from my home.

The next day, as I was roaming the streets of Arlington trying to find my car, walking past all the people in suits while I was in my sleeveless kickball gear from the night before, I realized that perhaps my life has taken a step in the wrong direction.  Why am I not in a suit?  Why am I not at a job?  Why am I the only one with vomit on their shirt?  Why do I kickball?

That thought lasted about 3 minutes as the email thread explaining the bar-night lit up my phone and already everyone was wondering how we were going to top the previous night in just 6 short days.  And I don't know how we are going to do it, but knowing us, we will...